Fate - Rewind
by Blue Hurricane
Summary: A prequel to F/Z. Seven mages are thrust into a Holy Grail War in London, but things are not quite what they seem. With Emiya Norikata's death and the Einzberns' mistake in the Third War, this 'Holy Grail War' will experience an irrevocable change. Unaware of the truth, these seven friends must bare their fangs at one another. Contains OCs and original Servants.
1. 00 - Mistakes

**Hello and welcome to the prologue of Fate – Rewind! This story takes place after Kiritsugu leaves the Alimango Islands with Natalia, and in a way is used to help set up the events of the Fourth War in our own take on some of the backstories.**

 **This will, however, largely feature OCs, and that the canon characters will not be the primary focus of this story, so if that's not your cup of tea, I'm sorry. We –myself and the artist drawing the pictures – did spend quite some time building up the characters and the setting, so please abstain from flaming. Reviews and criticisms are welcome, of course!**

 **Special thanks to Kyubey1161 for proofreading this chapter and Moczo for general pointers. You guys are awesome!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Fate series nor its characters. What more can I say?**

* * *

They were the majority, for they were the weak. They were the commonplace, for they were powerless in the face of destiny. They were never heroes, and they were never once of significance to the world.

If they were to cease to exist tomorrow, then today, they would not have 'lived'.

And yet, they truly did exist. They may have been weak, and they may have been commonplace, but they, too, had their own story to tell.

However, theirs was – and still is – a story of failure.

* * *

The fields of lush green grass danced, with the occasional blades being lifted off the ground and riding jovially on the wind. It was a gentle, soothing breeze – one that could easily lull anyone to sleep. Anyone except Akatsuki Ishida, that is.

Heaving a sigh so loud it felt more like an audible sentence, the young man refused to budge from where he lay. He was too lazy to move, which was only natural since he was too lazy to even sleep (and yes, he believed that made sense). It was a shame, too, considering how perfect the day was for a long, if not eternal, nap.

He vaguely wondered if the world was being nice or downright terrible to him. On one hand, the lovely weather could be interpreted as a way to comfort him over the recent loss of his precious literary collection. On the other hand, however, it could have been mocking him and his lack of books to read, by providing him the perfect setting to do so.

He sighed. To be fair, he was indeed partially at fault; had he not gotten carried away and made that comment (which just so happened to imply members of someone's family frequently and enthusiastically fornicated with livestock), his bookshelf might have been spared its untimely fiery demise. The feeling of said arsonist's nose breaking under his knuckle was gratifying, though.

For all the time he had spent reading up rubbish over literature to pass off as a magus, Akatsuki – or 'Aka', as his friends called him – had barely any results to show for it. As proof, he had resorted to his fists instead of throwing a fireball into his target's face during their 'squabble'. Unlike most of his peers, he just did not see the appeal of studying magecraft. There was only one thing keeping him here, all the way in freaking London and not back in Japan, and it was sure as heck not his parents. They may have thought his talent was something worth developing, but he frankly could not care less. No; the only reason he was still here was because his friends were here, too.

Having friends was certainly not uncommon, but Aka had come to understand that in the world of magecraft, it was something practically unheard of. Regardless of what they said, mages were, in the end, just selfish douchebags who sought nothing but personal fame and glory. And they had been shoved head-first into a shithole like that.

He sighed. Again. Maybe one of these days he would forget how to exhale and just passively sigh with every intake of breath.

"Y'know, sighing too much'll decrease your luck."

Without turning his head or even moving, Aka flipped the speaker the bird. He knew that voice well enough, and friendly acts of insults and profanities were nothing new.

"Good day to you too," Rei Morikawa said, sitting down next to him. "Why aren't you studying?"

"Do I look like a nerd to you?" Aka asked back.

Rei adjusted his glasses. He tended to do that, right before-

"Shut up," Aka said hastily, stopping him before he could voice that smartass comment.

"I heard some guy set fire to your bookcase," Rei commented. "What you do this time?"

"I made a comment about his parents."

"Okay… what did _he_ do, then?"

"I forget," Aka lied. If he had spilled the beans – and told Rei that the unnamed magus had insulted their whole group, he was not sure if the result would be pretty. In short, he was hesitant about making them commit an act that would forever scar a potential ace magus both mentally and physically.

"Right," Rei said, dragging out the word. "I'm gonna sneak a cockroach into his food later."

"Don't," Aka advised. "I'd feel sorry for the cockroach. Besides, you'd be exposing yourself to germs by touching it."

"Good call," Rei nodded. "I'll just make him eat it directly then."

After a brief pause, they chuckled. Like any other youth, on any other day, at any other place, they laughed. As though nothing was wrong with the world, they laughed.

And, possibly for the last time in their lives, they laughed.

"Oh, right," Rei said, standing back up. "It's almost time to meet. We agreed to have one last lunch before the test, right?"

And just like that, Aka was brutally reminded of his incompetence. He was due for a test at this time in the year, when pretty much no one else was because of a simple fact: his results had sucked too much.

He and his group of friends – 'Avifauna', as they called themselves – were, simply put, the worst. Be it in terms of results – academic or practical-wise – or their motivation to improve, they were without contest the bottom of the barrel. Granted, they were not truly, entirely incompetent (they did produce good results in whatever they were really interested in), but there was only so much they could achieve with only two generations of mages in their family trees.

After many futile attempts to improve their results (with the exception of Shizuku, who actually became decent), the members of Avifauna were given a simple choice: pass a special test, or be expelled.

To be completely honest, Aka would not have minded being expelled. He could have just lived a normal life without the distraction of magecraft screwing up said normality. That being said, there was no way his parents would have accepted that; if anything, they would probably force one of his sisters to take up the mantle. To have them plunge into the world of mages, devoid of humanity or freedom. He could not let them suffer like that. He believed quite firmly that if anyone had to suffer, it might as well be a piece of shit like him.

Bystanders may have called it selflessness. The ignorant may have called it arrogance. But as his friends and siblings knew, it was simply self-loathing.

"Right, right," he said, sitting up and dusting his shirt. "But surely you could've phrased it better; you make it sound like we're all gonna die or something."

Even as he said that, his mind nonetheless entertained that thought. Mages were far from being beyond killing – a huge reason to despise being considered as one. As a magus, there was a very real risk of actually dying, and this was doubly so for inexperienced idiots like him. This might really be his last chance to see them ever again.

Shaking his head frantically to rid those paranoid thoughts, the scrawny teen planted his palms on the ground in an attempt to push himself up. Then, he paused, looking at the outstretched hand in front of him.

Rei, grinning in a good-natured sort of way, proffered his hand, offering his friend some help with getting to his feet. A harmless, kind gesture – one that only friends displayed to each other. In the face of such a friendly offer, Aka narrowed his eyes.

"If I touch that hand," he said apprehensively. "Am I going to suddenly sprout chicken pox or some sort of rash or something?"

"I dunno," Rei replied innocently, that big smile still plastered on his face.

For all the stuff he did and said, Aka was a loyal person. When it came to matters involving his friends and family, he had no trouble openly declaring their importance to him. He also had no qualms about defending their name, or just plain punching someone for insulting them. It went without saying, then, that he trusted them greatly. But Rei's pranks were a different matter; he still had not forgotten the 'brown waterfall' incident.

"Well, thanks for the offer," he said, getting up by himself. "But no thanks."

"Aww," Rei whined, withdrawing his hand. "Such a shame."

 _I should have taken that hand._

He could not have possibly known what was to come, and what the future held. He could not have understood the weight of his options, and how real and dire the consequences were. Yet, there was a strange tingling sensation welling up inside him, as though chastising him for not reaching for that warmth. But, being ignorant to that fate, he ignored it.

And so, he did not reach for that hand. In the end, he never did take that hand ever again.

"What's wrong?" Rei asked, when Aka refused to follow him.

Wordlessly, Aka put a hand over his chest. Without understanding why, he tightened his grip on the fabric of his shirt.

There was a stinging pain lurking in his chest, tugging at his heart in dull throbs. It was not a significant level of pain, and it disappeared just as swiftly as it had come, leaving nothing but the pressure of his hand over his ribcage.

"No, it's nothing," he managed to say. At that moment, he truly believed those simple words. "Let's go."

Ignoring the growing sense of unease, Akatsuki Ishida walked forward.

* * *

The library was a wonderful place. Besides its countless shelves of intriguing books, it was also somewhere one could be in peace. For Shizuku Otonashi, who had to lead a group of rambunctious man-shaped torpedoes, it was a place of reprieve.

Closing the book he had been reading, he took a few minutes to organize his thoughts. Unlike the boys he led, Shizuku had rather decent results as a practitioner of magecraft, specifically Necromancy. There was no reason for him to willingly enter this 'test' that they had to do, just to follow through with his idea of 'friendship' – a concept that should not even exist in the world of mages. And if he had to be honest, none of them had to do this; they were not stupid, and they were not talentless. They were just not motivated.

 _Maybe their tests will do them some good,_ he thought. _But what about mine?_

In a few hours' time, they would each be given their own individual tests to complete. The contents of said tests were and would remain a secret, so Shizuku had no idea what awaited the other seven. But whatever it was, he doubted they would get a more dangerous task that Shizuku himself had. In fact, he suspected that was why he had been the only one to be informed of his task beforehand.

He stared at the back of the book he had closed. The Holy Grail War. A conflict between mages for the ultimate price of… one wish. The best of the best were chosen to compete amongst the greatest heroes mankind has known or ever will know, all just to make one wish. Sure, it could be any wish, but the amount of stupid in that entire concept was mind-boggling. What wish could possibly be so great to justify this sort of battle/ritual?

That being said, his opponents would definitely not be pushovers. That much was certain. If he was careless by even one bit, he could die. Kind of a harsh price to pay for friendship, but there was no backing out at this point.

"Hey, Shizuku."

He considered his current situation. From what he had researched, the Holy Grail War took place every sixty years, in a place in Japan called Fuyuki (he knew that place well enough; he had been born there after all). This time, however, the War was taking place here in London, and the three Families – Einzbern, Makiri and Tohsaka – were not taking part.

"Hey, Shizuku."

Something was amiss about this War. Perhaps the Clock Tower was sending him into this not to win, but to investigate the cause. He had been told to uphold a great deal of secrecy, after all (but then again, that was to be expected from anything mages did).

"Don't ignore me."

Unable to ignore that voice anymore, Shizuku looked up and at… her. He had no idea what her name was – he had never been good with names – but he knew who she was: she was the bitch who had taken a liking to him after he had upped his performance in class. Appropriately, Ran had named her 'slut'.

"Hey, Shizu-"

"Heey, boss!"

Right on cue, the bubbly and carefree voice of Ranichi 'Ran' Ooyama rang throughout the library. So much for peace and quiet.

"Hey, _I_ was talking to him!" Slut said crossly, turning to the plump magus.

"You should be quiet in the library, Ran," Shizuku reminded. He was not a social sort by nature unlike Ran, but he tended to say and do things after thinking it through every time. Ran just sort of… ran with it. Not to mention he had no idea how to read the mood.

"It's almost time," Rain said, completely ignoring Slut as he addressed his leader.

"Oh, right," Shizuku stood up, taking the book with him.

"Can't you grow some class, fatass?" Slut said irritably. "Can't you tell that a fine woman such as myself is trying to talk to Shizuku? You're in the way!"

"You're just saying that because you have small tits."

Shizuku froze. Actually, scratch that; the entire library froze. Maybe the world had stopped rotating. It was hard to tell over the tense silence left by Ran's random comment.

Even Ran's eyes were wide as his words began to sink in. He had no idea where that comment had come from, or how it made sense, but he had said it. He had, without thinking, just blurted it out.

A dry, sharp slap rang through the air, shattering the silence that had once been Shizuku's haven.

* * *

Tetsu Hamada rapped his knuckles on the fine wood. And again. When there was no response, he did the most logical thing to do: he turned the door into one giant slab of ice and kicked it in.

Stepping through the shattered remains of the door, Tetsu could not help but sigh. Maybe Aka was rubbing off on him, but there was no other reaction he could have given.

Huddled around the small television with snacks in their hands were Masahiro Takahashi and Ushimaru Komori, engrossed in their incredibly important task of watching anime. It was an odd sight, seeing the tall, lean Masahiro (or 'Hiro') next to the shorter, pudgier 'Maru'.

"Yo, otakus," Tetsu raised his voice a little. "You're not giving the Europeans a good impression of Japanese people."

"Who cares?" Hiro asked without turning or interest. His tone was mellow, lighthearted – like how it always was regardless of the topic at hand. "This episode is more important."

"Besides," Maru added, practically tearing his eyes away from the screen as he turned to look at Tetsu. "How did you even get in- WHAT THE FU-"

"Hey, don't blame me," Tetsu said quickly. "You guys didn't answer when I knocked, so-"

"-so you acted in a manner befitting of a Japanese," a voice from outside the room said. "Interesting choice, considering what you were admonishing them for."

"Hey, I was demonstrating aptitude in applying magecraft," Tetsu countered.

"And they were appreciating an important part of our delightful culture," the boy outside the room replied. Kenichi 'Ken' Ootei was not actually trying to defend the two couch potatoes in the room; he merely wanted to be sarcastic. "Come on; we're going to be late again."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," Hiro said, standing up and stretching.

"It's unique, to say the least," Tetsu nodded sagely. "I've never seen anyone so consistently late for just about anything before. Except Ran, maybe."

"You'd think magic- I mean, magecraft would improve his sense of direction," Maru chuckled, taking off his shirt as he picked up another one nearby. "But seriously, Tetsu; you've gotta do something about the door."

"Eh, glue will do," Tetsu replied offhandedly. "We'll get Aka to Reinforce it later. It's his forte, after all."

"Yes, his _forte_ ," Ken rolled his eyes. "Because he clearly is even capable of other kinds of magecraft."

"That's mean," Hiro interjected, but he was grinning. "He's good with the Mystic Voice of Pissing People Off, too. And the Magus Punch."

"Hiro, if you grin any wider your eyes are gonna disappear," Maru pointed out, throwing him a spare sock.

"Nah; they're always this thin," Hiro dismissed the concern easily, catching the sock and throwing it aside before putting on a pair of sandals instead.

"Alright already," Tetsu spoke up. "Let's go, ladies; the cows are coming home."

"Yay, dinner!" Maru cheered. "Wait; what cows?"

"It's an ex- never mind," Tetsu sighed. It was not even lunchtime yet, and he was already nursing a migraine. The day was going to suck.

* * *

"Ran, what happened to your face?"

"I walked into a pole."

"But it looks like a handpr-"

"I walked into a pole."

Walking over to the table with a bowl of noodles on his tray, Aka paused to stare at the glowing red handprint on Ran's left cheek. Having missed out on the exchange between Ran and Maru, he opened his mouth.

"Ran, what-" he began.

"I walked into a pole," Ran repeated, tears of regret flowing down his face.

"But it looks like a handpr-"

"Whoa, Ran," Hiro said, walking over with a milkshake in his hand. "What happened to your face?"

Ranichi Ooyama, whose heart was made of glass, broke into tears.

"Shizuku?" Rei asked, and everyone turned to their leader for an explanation.

"Er… Let's just say…" he said hesitantly. "Ran's not getting a girlfriend anytime soon."

Ranichi Ooyama, whose name had become widespread like a forest fire, cried louder.

"Good job," Ken told him.

"Idiot," Tetsu sighed.

"Dumbass," Rei guffawed.

"Thank you," Maru said. "What? It means more chances for me."

Ranichi Ooyama, whose image was now in shambles, dissolved in a pool of his own tears.

"Anyway, moving on," Aka prompted. "Shizuku, are you really going for this? We're not even going to be doing the same thing, you know. We'll probably get separated and-"

"I know," Shizuku replied coolly. "And I don't care. I'm going to clear mine just fine, so that's no reason for you guys to fail, got it?"

Receiving seven different replies affirming his statement, Shizuku nodded. He knew that everyone would be assigned a different task; it was the first thing they assured him when he voluntarily signed up for it. Which was common sense, really; if they were all competing with him in the Holy Grail War, then only one amongst them would be able to stay while the rest got expelled. There was no way the Clock Tower would do something like that.

"He just wants to be with us in spirit," Hiro pointed out. "His eighth-grader syndrome is strong, after all."

"I will bury you," Shizuku threatened. "Then I'll bring you back and kill you again."

Hiro stuck his tongue out at him.

"You're worrying about the wrong person, Aka," Rei said. "He's the best among us; if anyone should be worried about failing, it'd be us."

"I guess," Aka sighed. "Thank you for reminding me when I was trying to be in denial."

"You're welcome," Rei replied cheerfully.

"The food sucks," Ran said out of nowhere, poking at his vegetable sandwich with a finger. At least he was not crying anymore. "The taste is… flagitious."

"I see your vocabulary's improved," Ken commented.

"Yeah; the taste was so bad I had to expand my vocabulary just to describe it."

"Alright, ladies," Shizuku spoke up, and the commotion instantly died down. "I don't know what we're each going to do, but it doesn't matter. We're gonna go in, ace this crap, and get back to the regular curriculum. No one gets expelled, and no one gets hurt. Understood?"

"Hooah."

"Jolly good."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Okay."

"Uh-huh."

"Understood."

"Roger that."

Shizuku pinched the bridge of his nose. He was positive that they gave him varying replies just to annoy him. They were perfectly capable of answering him in a synchronized manner, except for moments like this when he was being serious.

"Okay, let's go," he declared.

"Yes mom," the other seven replied.

Shizuku Otonashi was an eloquent, dignified man, so he settled for replying with a single rude hand gesture.

* * *

The two men walked down the empty corridor, hardly uttering a word. At a glance, they may have been strangers, unaware of who the other person was. They were merely two men walking towards their own destinations, maybe to give a lecture of some sort.

"I still find it difficult to believe," the taller and younger of the two said. He had a dignified air of confidence around him, as expected of the eighth head of the Archibald.

"I do not blame you," the other man replied with a chuckle. It was not every day that one had information to which even the great head of the Archibald was not privy. "But it is indeed true."

"By what means did you manage it?" Archibald asked. "I imagine creating a replica of the Holy Grail cannot be a trivial task."

"Indeed," the man agreed. "And while it pains me to say this, it is but a failed replica. It has nowhere near the power of the original, and it can hardly do more than showing the winner an illusion of having their dream fulfilled, but it has its uses."

"But why would the Mage's Association create such a thing?" Archibald asked.

"It has been the subject of much debate as to what the purpose of the Holy Grail of Fuyuki is," the man replied. "It was believed that should we be able to duplicate it, we would be able to understand what the Einzbern, Makiri and Tohsaka families had in mind for its creation."

"You believe them to have a hidden objective we are unaware of?"

"Perhaps," he nodded slowly. "Alas, the replica is severely flawed, but we have found a use for it: when this replica is activated, it emulates the Holy Grail of Fuyuki and begins a Grail War of its own. Since it runs on its own system, it is not bound by the whims of the original, which gives us a bit of… leeway. Specifically, with the choosing of the Masters."

"And what can be achieved via such a farce?"

Such harsh words, and yet an expected response.

"Mana," he replied simply. "Even though it is a replica, the 'False Grail' is able to draw miniscule amounts of energy from the Holy Grail – possible because of its origin as a copy of the sacred relic allowing it a loose link to the original. Upon the completion of the War, the False Grail is able to 'grant' the wish of the holder, while expelling large amounts of mana which we can harvest. We just need seven mages of above average 'capacity' to pull it off, so it presents little risk."

"You would constantly expend the students at the Clock Tower?" Archibald asked. It was a great waste of resources, no matter how he looked at it.

"We would be forced to," the man admitted, a queer glint in his aged eyes as he pulled out photograph from his pocket. "If not for the timely death of this man."

Expressionlessly, the head of the Archibald accept the photograph, which captured a man with messy charcoal hair, a rather sunken face and a pair of used spectacles. Naturally, he did not know the identity of this man, so he simply waited for an explanation.

"His name is Norikata Emiya," the old man informed him. "He is one with a Sealing Designation despite his shallow family history, and a man who studied means to manipulate innate time."

Even though it was brief, Archibald still paused upon hearing that.

"His studies have largely been destroyed," the man went on, clearly pleased with the effect his words had. "But we have confiscated all the important parts of his Magic Crest, and we believe that with all the resources at our disposal, we can make this the last False Grail Conflict we need to conduct.

"We believe that if we manipulate the innate time of the False Grail upon the conflict's conclusion," he went on. "We can keep it in a looped state where it constantly draws from the Holy Grail to continuously produce mana for us. It remains a hypothesis, but is nonetheless worth exploring."

"I see," Archibald replied. Something this trivial hardly required his attention, even if the prospect of attaining such a large amount of mana was indeed tempting. "And who might the participants be?"

"Simple, disposable novices," the man snarled, not bothering to hide his disgust. "They possess above average magical power, but that's it. They would do nicely."

Nothing more was said, and the two men fell silent once more. There was nothing more to discuss, for the eight young mages were clearly not a concern for either of them.

After all, their lives held no value beyond this farce of a War.

* * *

Akatsuki Ishida was fighting with every ounce of his being not to fall asleep. He had just spent a good thirty minutes listening to the old lecturer explain the rules of his test – something called the Holy Grail War. And since the two of them were the only ones in the room, giving in to drowsiness was not an option. He vaguely wondered if there was some more interesting way to pick up the rules, like via a visual novel or an anime or something. But of _course_ mages needed to make the explanations drawn out and boring.

"Do you have any questions?" the lecturer asked.

Aka would have dearly loved to ask, 'can you just expel me now instead', but decided against it; Shizuku would be PISSED if he had. Instead, he shook his head.

"Very well, the elderly man sighed. He probably knew Aka did not care about this whole thing, and frankly, neither did he. Producing a roll of parchment from inside his robes, he placed it down on the table in front of him. "Sign this. It is a binding contract that prevents you from harming or intending to harm those whose prana dwell in this parchment. We're having your friends sign this as well after you."

"Er… what is this for?" Aka asked apprehensively.

"It is a sign of respect for your display of… friendship," the old lecturer outright lied. "As you may well know, the world of magi is hardly safe. This will prevent you from harming those you deem dear, and is strong enough to overpower any sort of hypnotism that should make you attempt such an act. Also, should you fail the test and get expelled, but your friends succeed and stay, it would protect them from any forms of ill-will you may choose to display. The contract also prevents you from disclosing the contents of your test to anyone, to maintain the level of secrecy required of you."

It was a flimsy excuse, and a downright shady one to boot. Aka, like most if not all of the members of Avifauna, would have easily picked up on what was wrong, if not for the giddy feeling in his head. The unnatural, spinning sensation seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and invaded his thoughts.

"You will sign it, won't you?"

Of course he would. Why would he not sign it? What else would he do?

"Of course," he said.

Unsuspecting and unaware, the eight young mages signed their own parchments, leaving their names laced with prana across the scrolls. Naturally, they never did find out that their scrolls only ever contained just one name: their own.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Stuff," Aka replied, continuing to draw weird shapes and symbols around the summoning circle. Or at least, that was what it looked like. "If I'm gonna get a random Servant, I might as well choose the Class. And what better way to buff up this Class than with a bunch of Nordic runes, right?"

The elderly lecturer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was already bad enough that a weak, scrawny kid like him was thinking of summoning a Berserker, but to display such a shallow amount of knowledge was downright shameful.

Sure, Norse berserkers were warriors who came to define the very word 'Berserker', in a similar way to how Hassan-i-Sabbah came to define the word 'Assassin'. However, there were few, if any, noteworthy mentions who stood out from the rest. There was one particularly famous one, and it was impossible to Him. Perhaps the child believed that the runes would power up the Servant somehow, or he was straight up insane and really intended to summon that particular Servant. Such naivety.

" _Ye first, O Silver, O Iron,_ " Aka chanted, smiling a little. He actually enjoyed speaking like someone from the olden times. _"Let stone and the Archduke of Contracts be the foundation._ "

And then he forgot the chant. Forgetting to sound old, he desperately started to pull out the words from the deepest parts of his memory, attempting to complete the summoning without errors.

" _Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall,"_ he went on, his outstretched hand starting to feel a little sore. _"Let the four cardinal gates close."_

* * *

" _Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate,"_ Shizuku chanted. " _Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Five perfections for each repetition. And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead."_

To be honest, this whole ritual – complete with the glowing summoning circle in front of him, made him feel like a kid pretending to be a wizard. How he had left those days behind.

 _I wonder what would happen if I shouted 'Transform!' after the incantation_ , he thought.

* * *

All at once, across seven separate places, the unified voices of seven novice mages rang out:

 _Let it be declared now;_

 _Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword._

 _If you would submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail,_

 _If you would obey this will, this truth,_

 _Then you shall respond._

 _I make my oath here._

 _I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven._

 _I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades._

* * *

The elderly lecturer was becoming increasingly worried. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

The air itself was shaking, and the summoning circle in front of Aka was no longer merely glowing; it was eruption with a blinding light. There was no way a Servant summoned by the False Grail could be causing this, and yet…

Aka seemed to have noticed something as well. While it was satisfying to see the summoning circle light up, and even more so when the runes he added started shining as well, he shuddered. At that moment, he felt something else in the air – something otherworldly, and eerie.

Something that came to be because of him.

" _Yet you shall serve with your eyes clouded by chaos,"_ he pushed forward, ignoring the foreboding sensation. _"For you would be one caged in madness._

" _I am he who commands those chains!"_

* * *

 _From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power,_

 _Come forth from the ring of restraint, protector of the holy balance!_

Within the depths of the False Grail, something stirred. Answering to the calls of its cheap fake, the Holy Grail had planted a seed of destruction waiting to bloom. Because of a simple mistake by one of the Masters, because of the mistake made by the Einzberns in the Third War, and an absurd amount of 'luck' that could only be described as 'misfortune', destiny shifted its course.

Because of that those tiniest of things, the world irrevocably changed.

Unaware that they had bared their fangs at their dearest friends, the seven Masters entered the 'Holy Grail War'.

* * *

 **Think of this as an extended summary, if you will. This sets the stage, and welcome to Fate – Rewind! Hope you stick around until the end of the story! Again, reviews are more than welcome, and thank you for reading!**


	2. 01 - Heroes

Ken groaned. When he had been threatened with expulsion, and was forced to take this stupid test, he had not been expecting... this.

Of all things, he had to be sitting in a church acting as the mediator of some battle royale. Not only was it boring as heck, he did not even know the identities of those who were taking part. Having vague terms like 'Servant Saber' and 'Archer's Master' were supposed to help, but that was complete bulls-

"Who's there?" he asked, looking up as soft footsteps approached. The church had been abandoned, and it the sun had barely risen, so he had to admit he had been careless with the boundary field. Normal people could still enter, even though there was no reason for them to step foot here, and Ken was sure as heck not holy enough to give a sermon or listen to confessions.

"Are you the mediator for this event?" the intruder - a kid no older than twelve - asked.

"Who're you?" Ken asked, raising an eyebrow. Something about the kid made him feel really uncomfortable for reasons he could not explain. "If you want something, you should at least give your name."

The young boy was silent for a few seconds, as though considering his words. Finally, he nodded.

"I am Kirei," he introduced. "Kirei Kotomine."

* * *

Tetsu Hamada stared at the screen blankly for a few minutes, before finally closing his laptop. He should have known it'd be pointless, but a part of him still had to try. The result of said trying, however, was a brutal reminder of how stupid the idea had been.

"What are you doing, Master?" a man's voice, powerful and authoritative, yet without an owner, asked.

"I'm looking up additional information on the 'Holy Grail War' on the Internet," Tetsu replied, the very words mocking him as soon as they left his lips. "As expected, there's nothing useful. Or at all, actually."

"As I understand, this 'Internet' connects people across the world," the voice mused, as a man appeared out of thin air. While it would explain why Tetsu had been talking to an 'empty' room before, the sight of a man materializing out of nowhere was surely not a normal sight. "To think that such a wondrous creation would not contain the information you seek... Mages are truly protective of their secrets."

"Actually, I think they're just too stupid for technology," Tetsu replied offhandedly, recalling the time someone had blown up a computer trying to change the font in a document. Leaning back on his chair, he turned to face his Servant.

Broad shoulders. Muscular. Shoulder-length hair that dimly shown with a dull gold aura. The man was a statue depicting confidence and charisma, given life by something divine. And yet, despite his awe-inspiring appearance, there was something missing. If anything, he looked like a veteran warrior instead of a great Hero.

"What is it?" the man asked. "Surely you have not been mesmerized by my fine body, have you, Master?"

Tetsu resisted the urge to roll his eyes and scoff.

"Hey, Saber..." he said hesitantly.

"Yes?" The Servant replied readily.

"Are you really a King?"

For a moment, Saber did not reply. He merely stared at his Master, looking into his eyes as though appraising him. Tetsu held his ground against the intense stare, but it took a lot of effort.

"It would appear you are not mocking me," he said at last. "So I shall answer you honestly. Indeed, I am a King. I was entrusted with the lives of my people, and was able to fight for them until my last breath. I feel no shame in giving my life for such a cause."

"No, I don't mean that," Tetsu corrected quickly. "You just... don't feel all that... grand."

"Grand?" Saber questioned. "Did you perhaps expect me to be clad in gold and silver like an extravagant ornament?"

"Yeah, something like that."

Saber broke into gales of laughter.

"You amuse me, Master," he guffawed. "Such a queer image of kings! I assure you, I have no interest in vain trinkets or mountains of gold; a king should only ever bathe in the glory of victory and the praises of his people, and never riches. Does that disappoint you?"

"Of course not," Tetsu replied. "In fact, it's actually better for me if you're not some stupid show-off. Since you're strong too, I have no complaints. But I do have one more question:

"What's your wish for the Grail?"

Saber fell silent once more, earnestly thinking through his reply. Tetsu waited him out, observing the warrior with curious eyes. At least the man was not boring holes into his soul this time with those eyes of his.

"I cannot think of anything concrete," he said. "If anything, I wish to prove my strength to the world, as I have always done in life. I simply wish to win, for that would be a fine testament to my prowess in battle."

"Haven't you already slain a dragon?" Tetsu asked blankly.

"Indeed I have," Saber agreed. "However, I was heavily wounded from that battle, and perished soon after. It is not a result I can be satisfied with, and certainly not a true 'victory'. I believe I can do better. No; I will do better in this War."

"Good enough for me," Tetsu shrugged. "But mages are a cowardly bunch, you know? What if they cheat or gang up on you or something?"

"Tell me, Master," Saber said sternly. "Do you intend to chouse your foes?"

"Not if I can help it, no," Tetsu replied.

"Then that is fine," Saber nodded, satisfied with his answer. "I care not if others resort to underhanded means; the weak must depend on other factors to even the odds, so as to achieve a level playing field. I will not blame them, nor will I admonish them for their actions; I will win long as you, too, are righteous, I care not what vile schemes our foes can concoct. You should be more conscious of the fact that you have summoned the strongest Servant of the strongest Class, Master."

"Fair enough," Tetsu conceded. He had no doubts about his Servant's abilities; in fact, he was actually doubtful of this test precisely because of it. He had summoned the strongest Servant - one so powerful that his own input was rendered unnecessary. He could easily win this War with hardly any effort. Was this really enough for the Clock Tower to retract his expulsion verdict?

"I will be counting on your support, Master," Saber said, offering the teen his hand. "Together, we will surely emerge victorious."

Tetsu considered him for a few moments, and slowly took his hand. He was shaking hands with a real King. That in itself was far too surreal.

"But of course," he replied, grinning.

That is, until Saber's iron grip all but crushed his hand.

* * *

Shizuku Otonashi, a man of morals and discipline, was attempting to cheat.

Granted, he was not so much 'cheating' as he was 'trying to exploit any possible loopholes', but he knew there was little difference there.

"Ah, this is the life!"

He looked at the back of his hand, where an odd mark had been slapped on. It looked like a regular tattoo to those who did not know better, but when one considered his current situation, it was something far more important.

His Command Seals sat there innocently, glaring back at him as he inspected them. He had done his research on the Holy Grail War, and was well aware of what they were and what they could do. What he had not been expecting, however, was the quantity he had.

As every bit of information he could gather had told him, every Master was given three Seals without exception. And yet, inexplicably, Shizuku had five.

"That was refreshing! Your era is truly one of great marvels, Master!"

Had he somehow broken the rules unintentionally? Had there been an error in the system of the Grail? Was it due to the uncanny nature of his Servant?

"You really are a man of few words, huh. Need me to tutor you? I'm not the best with language, but being summoned as a Servant..."

Shizuku massaged his temples. He had gone through quite some effort to summon an unorthodox Servant, but he had not expected said Servant to be this unorthodox. Or annoying, for that matter.

"You're not very popular with the ladies, are you?" Caster asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

Shizuku's headache worsened. Despite being a female, Caster seemed to have no problem walking around in nothing but a towel. He could not tell if it was a cultural thing, a blatant lack of shame, or just plain stupidity. Not that he could blame her, since she looked like a ten-year-old and so this was appropriate ignorance.

"Being popular with 'ladies' like you is a crime," he countered. "Put some bloody clothes on."

Caster scrunched her nose.

"I won't question your tastes, Master," she said, her tone suggesting otherwise as her face showed equal parts disgust and mischief. "But I don't think bloodied clothes are attractive fashion-wise."

Shizuku swore under his breath.

"You're no fun," Caster pouted, twirling a lock of her white hair in her finger. "You need to lighten up more."

"I'm in a seven-way battle royale," Shizuku stated. "I fail to see how I can bloody relax."

"You need to cut down on your use of 'bloody'," Caster commented. "And don't worry; I may look like this, but I'm still the Pied Piper of Hamelin. I won't go down easily!"

The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Rather than a heroic legend, she was more of a myth. Taking away a large number of children from the town of Hamelin, after which none returned, she was an enigmatic existence whom, until recently, Shizuku had believed to be a _he_.

He had initially believed that a Servant like her, who had no known name nor cause of death, yet able to leave her identity in the pages of history, would be the perfect Servant for him. Even if they found out about her identity, there was nothing the other Masters could do to stop her. Her abilities were unavoidable and unstoppable – to the extent of being described as a plague or force of nature – and she had no known weaknesses (save her current childlike form). For a novice like Shizuku whose mind could easily be invaded, this was the best course of action. Or at least, it should have been the best course of action.

 _I really have terrible luck with women,_ he thought.

Caster, oblivious to her Master's suffering, had materialized her clothes and was wolfing down a packet of crackers.

"I thought Servants didn't need to eat," Shizuku wondered aloud.

"Eading heaups," Caster replied, her cheeks bulging. "Somwat."

"Don't talk with food in your mouth."

 _Or, for that matter, don't talk at all,_ he added in his head.

Caster nodded and swallowed, then went blue in the face as the food got stuck in her throat. Fearing the early death of his useless Servant, Shizuku rushed to get her a glass of water.

 _Yes,_ he thought exasperatedly. _I_ do _have bad luck with women._

* * *

Ran watched with mild intrigue as his Servant played around with rubble, or something. He could not tell from where he was.

"What're you doing, Archer?" he asked, unable to hold in his curiosity.

The Servant in question stood up and dusted the dirt off his gloves before replying. Dressed in a worn trenchcoat and sporting what looked like a cowboy hat, the Heroic Servant of the bow gave off the impression of some Wild West sheriff. Then he smiled, instantly changing the vibe that he emitted.

"Burying my trap," he replied lightheartedly. "Sometimes it's the simplest way that works best."

He looked around, surveying the empty construction site they were at. Thanks to Ran's boundary field, regular humans would be keeping out, which suited them just fine.

"Do you have to do it this early?" Ran asked. "It's barely noon."

"There's no such thing as being too careful," Archer replied. "I'll set up more traps in a bit, once I've confirmed the layout of this field. Then we can move on to turning this entire city into our stage."

Ran could not help but be impressed by his Servant's ambitious attitude. Sure, he liked to think big as well, but he was not _this_ big a thinker. Not to mention it was too much work.

"Master," Archer called out, digging a hole in another pile of junk and dropping something inside. "Could you make the boundary field a little stronger? We want to be noticed."

It was then that Ran realized his Servant was actually compromising with him. He had wanted to start a fight right away, and Archer had agreed. Thinking back, a man who would go to such lengths to turn the entire London into his personal battlefield was definitely not rash. If they did things the Archer way, they would not be fighting at all tonight. But they were.

Having Ran set a boundary field was not only meant for repelling people; it was meant to attract the other Masters and Servants to this construction site, which would give Archer the initiative AND advantage. Even when compromising, his Servant had all his bases covered. With preparations this thorough, how could they lose?

"Now then, Master," Archer said, approaching the teen. "I know it is your motto to… ahem… 'Strike fast, strike fierce, strike first'. But for tonight's battle, we will have to take a more cautious approach, if you do not mind?"

"Eh, I'll live," Ran shrugged. "With a setup like this, I can't really fault you for anything. Do what you do best."

"I figured you might like it," Archer nodded. "You, too, are quite the prankster, after all."

He was, of course, referring to his summoning. For the sake of messing around, Ran had put a pail of water next to his summoning circle, intending to prank his Servant the moment it came out. Sure enough, Archer ended up with one foot in the pail the moment he stepped into this era. Not the best way to be summoned, that much was certain.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, huh?" Ran asked. He was already regretting that stupid, childish trick, but his Servant seemed to think otherwise of him. "I said I was sorry."

"Worry not, my Master," Archer replied blithely. "I expected nothing less from the one who summoned me."

"Is that supposed to be praise?" Ran asked dubiously.

"Who knows," Archer teased, shrugging his shoulders. "Depends on how you look at it. 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder', as they say."

"You sound like Aka," Ran said.

"Aka?" Archer repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Who might that be?"

"A friend," Ran replied readily. "A little skinny and a literature nerd, but not a bad guy."

"Surely the target of your pranks, no doubt," Archer mused.

"Hey, that was just one time-"

"That aside, Master," Archer cut across him. "We should partake in some lunch. Eating properly is key to survival and health, you know."

"Do I look malnourished to you?" Ran asked, flexing his biceps. "And what's with the weird English? Just say 'let's eat lunch', dammit."

"Alas, I am an old man, Master," Archer reminded him with a wink. "It would be more fitting for me to act my age, no?"

"You're not even forty," Ran pointed out. "Are you?"

"The year begs to differ."

"Alright then, gramps," Ran said, a hint of mischief surfacing in his voice. He liked how his Servant was this easy-going; it made him feel at ease. "Let's go indulge in some cup noodles and play basketball!"

Archer raised an eyebrow. Whether he was questioning what 'cup noodles' were or expressing disapproval to Ran wanting to play around was anyone's guess. Ran, who was not one to read the mood or analyze things, merely interpreted it as the former.

"Cup noodles are the epitome of culinary convenience," he proudly declared, remembering the convoluted expression Aka had taught him (after some bribery involving a Shakespeare book). "Not to mention it tastes great, too."

"I see…" Archer said slowly. "Well, I hope you can procure it swiftly; wasting time is certainly not prudent in a battle like this."

"Don't worry; it's everywhere," Ran replied. "We just need hot water and wait three minutes for it to cook."

"Hold up, Master," Archer said, coming to a halt. "Did you just say three minutes?"

"Uh… Yeah…?"

"Am I to believe there exists something that can be used to substitute a proper meal," Archer said slowly and seriously. "And it can be prepared anywhere in just three minutes?"

"Well, yes," Ran nodded, unsure of how to react.

"Ingenious," Archer said, surprise and awe lacing his tone. "To think that Man has progressed thus far in the nature of combat rations… Color me impressed, Master."

"O-oh," Ran commented, adequately demonstrating his eloquence. "Then… shall we go?"

"In all honesty, Master," Archer said, flashing him a wide smile. "I would like that very much."

* * *

Night had fallen, casting a tranquil shroud upon the streets of London. The hustle and bustle of morning activities had dwindled, leaving a sparse population still littering its dimly lit streets. The night air was gentle and calm, with the occasional breeze caressing one's cheeks. It was the perfect setting for a late night stroll.

At the same time, it was a perfect night for murder.

The night air was taut, heavy, its stifling atmosphere barely masking the rancid stench of death. Splashes of crimson plastered the walls, its twisted curtains drawn to the sides for his vile act.

Assassin twirled the blade with his fingers, letting it dance along the tip as though alive. Red, sticky droplets flew through the air with each motion, blooming across whatever surface they touched with the softest of sounds.

His face wore no emotion, and his eyes without passion nor pity. He merely watched – observed – as his hand and blade slithered through the air and towards the prey. It was no longer possible to distinguish between the hand and the weapon anymore.

"I understand that you can gain prana or mana or whatever this way," Masahiro Takahashi – 'Hiro' – said, looking at his Servant's handiwork. "But do you have to make such a mess?"

"Strictly speaking, no," Assassin replied casually. He sounded unperturbed and unconcerned, as though this was a simple everyday conversation. They might have been talking about the weather judging by their tone. "But it's a matter of principle. It's like doing a test; not only do you fill in the answers, you'd make your handwriting neat too even though it's not required of you. It adds to the display as well as the overall experience."

Hiro nodded, mulling over those words. His Servant was, without a doubt, a connoisseur of grisly murders and mutilated corpses. Hiro was by no means a killer, nor was he a psychopath. Yet, he could not bring himself to mind the things Assassin did.

Upon his summoning, Assassin looked like a normal Englishman. He was well dressed, and when had asked for Hiro's name, he had been courteous. It was after that brief exchanged did Assassin become something else entirely.

Immediately after affirming the identity of his Master, Assassin has strode across the room, his gait calm and composed, and murdered Hiro's lecturer. It had been that one moment that changed Hiro's life.

His movements had been swift and graceful, natural to an uncanny degree. He had merely moved his hand – a simple flinging motion to the side – and his blade appeared, drawing a thin, gleaming string of pulsating red along its tip.

He remembered that moment, and was rendered spellbound by the beauty of that simple feat. At that moment, Hiro felt an odd tingling in his being, as though something dormant had been awakened. He had no interest in murder, but those movements had been so _beautiful_.

Turning back to his Servant, Hiro watched as Assassin gave his dagger a casual, almost lazy, manner. In the blink of an eye, the blade cast aside its dull red coating, instead sporting a vibrant shimmer as it reflected moonlight and the glow from distant streetlamps. The pristine shine made the blade feel eerily alive, as though it had spat out the cold blood wrapped around it because it was disgusting. Instead, it now possessed an unquenchable thirst for a fresher, warmer variant.

"Elegant," Hiro said. He might have realized it sounded like poor praise, but he just could not help himself. "As expected from Jack the Ripper."

The moment he said that name, Asssassin paused. It was a subtle detail and ever so brief, allowing it to escape Hiro's notice. Maintaining a few moments of silence, he turned to his clueless Master.

"Yes," he forced out, managing a rather strained smile. "Of course."

Hiro, not finding the response odd, turned to look in the direction of a random construction site. Assassin noticed this, and shook his head.

"I hope you're not intending to take the bait, Master," he said. "I have little combat capabilities, even if you have summoned me in London. Assassins are… well, assassins."

"I know, I know," Hiro said dismissively, his face and tone suggesting he was an old granny humoring her grandson. "I'll see that other Noble Phantasm of yours in action another day. For tonight, we'll just observe. Watch and learn and all that."

"Very well," Assassin nodded. "It would be best if you stayed behind then, Master; as long as you can see what I can, there's no need for you-"

"What're you talking about?" Hiro asked. "I've already dispatched familiars to observe from a distance – a few inside the field as distractions, and some just along the edge. We should have a good idea of what happens even when chilling at home."

"Your judgement is most sound, Master," Assassin chuckled.

* * *

It was the sound of footsteps that broke the silence.

From the confident and steady gait, it might have been a young man, possibly a soldier or a warrior. That impression, as it turned out, was not far off, but as the owner of those footsteps showed his face under the moonlight, it was clear he was no teenager or adult.

Grey hair danced under the moon's glow like trails of silver, stray strands flowing freely in the wind where they had not been tied into the neat ponytail at the back of his head. Dull clicks accompanied each step he took, drawing attention to their source – a set of weathered armor plats, woven meticulously to invoke a sense of vigor. Not that it mattered, for his jade irises were already life with the spirit of a thousand soldiers, casting an imposing aura upon his entire being.

"I have come to accept your challenge!" he roared, his voice powerful and authoritative. "Face me, O revered Heroic Spirit, so that we may engage in an honorable duel to the death!"

A deep rumbling sound was heard in the distance, and something began to draw closer. It approached, slowly but surely, closing in on the old Servant who appeared unarmed. When it was finally close enough to be discerned, he could not believe his eyes. It was not some fantastic beast or divine mount.

It was Archer on a motorcycle.

"This era sure has fun toys," the man chuckled. "Such a wondrous- whoa!"

Losing his balance, Archer fell, landing head first onto the ground. Hastily getting to his feet, the Heroic Spirit of the bow dusted his clothes off and fixed his dark red hair.

"That went well," he muttered. "Now then, I believe introductions are in order. Hello. I am Rider. And you are?"

"I would find it most perplexing that a Rider would put up such a risible display," the aged Servant said. "If you would be telling the truth, I shall offer my sincerest apologies for casting doubt. If you are indeed lying, however, you would prove most unworthy of being my opponent."

"You got me there," Archer replied, raising his hand in surrender. "I'm a normal archer, nothing more. I am not a rider of beasts, nor will I ever be; I hunt them down and leave none standing, after all. Even if being summoned to this era has taken away my broken English, it cannot take away my calling. I have been, and always will be, a Hunter. It matters not what my Class is."

"Very well," the grey-haired Servant replied. "While I cannot reveal my name, let it be known that I am the Heroic Spirit of the Spear, whose fate lies with the tides of War!"

Archer's eye twitched at that declaration. It would not be far-fetched to say that he was annoyed.

"Enough talk," he said, almost sighing as he did. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a crossbow – one that almost seemed too large for the coat to conceal. Without any warning, he pulled the trigger.

A small burst of light sprang forth from the weapon, piercing the air as it flew straight for Lancer's forehead. Before it could reach, however, it burst into several small sparks in mid-air, fading into the night air as they fell.

"It would appear you are no longer in the mood for conversation," Lancer mused. At some point, he had switched to a fighting stance, with his weapon brandished in his right hand. Returning to his standing posture, the aged Servant let his weapon come into view more clearly. And it was breathtaking.

The weapon was, simply put, exquisite. It looked simple in design, but there was overwhelming vitality in its form. Its dark green shaft gleamed like polished emerald, and as Lancer stood it upright against the ground, its unyielding frame gave off the impression that it could stand on its own, proud and staunch like a true warrior.

Its tip, if it could be called that, were made of two metallic blades extending upwards and curling smoothly and gently to the sides, leaving two sharp ends where they bent. The curved ends finished on two fine points, sleek and delicate, like a pair of small, folded wings. They were thin, almost fragile blades, but they practically emanated pride and bravery.

Or, as Archer saw it, arrogance and recklessness.

"A fair warning, bowman," Lancer said. "You would do well to increase the distance between us. My spear reaches far, and I fear your arrows may not travel fast enough."

"Thanks for your concern," Archer said coldly, pulling the trigger once more.

This time, several trails of light shot out in rapid succession, soaring across the air like tiny shooting stars. Almost effortlessly, Lancer deflected them with swift twirls of his weapon, rendering them powerless as they scattered like fireworks.

Deflecting the last of the projectiles, Lancer kicked off the ground hard, charging towards Archer at an impossible speed. It was no longer a matter of age; no normal human could be that fast. Arguably, no _Servant_ could be that fast, with the exception of heroes from a certain Class.

Fully confident in his superior speed, Lancer charged in a straight line, his sights set on Archer's head. Archer, who either did not react in time or knew he could not avoid the blow, merely stood there.

And then, Lancer stopped.

It had not been his intention. It was not a ruse. Inexplicably, Lance just simply _stopped_ dead in his tracks. It rendered him stunned for a brief fraction of a second, before an arrow of light stabbed into his gut.

Casting his eyes to towards the ground, Lancer spotted the cause of his abrupt halt. Hidden under a small, barely noticeable pile of junk and concrete was an old-fashioned bear trap. Slicing it open and taking another arrow – this time to the left shoulder, Lancer attempted to pull away from his opponent.

But Archer did not have any intention of letting him escape. Before his prey could adapt, he swiftly changed the flow of the battle; firing one last arrow of light, he pulled out a revolver from its holster around his chest and fired.

A loud report rang throughout the space, masking the sound of Lancer deflecting the arrow. Because of the glaring light from the arrow, the dull, ordinary-looking bullet slipped through his vision and tore its way into his heart – or it would have, if not for Lancer's reflexes; pivoting his weight on one foot, he turned, letting the bullet burrow into his left arm instead. Even though it looked commonplace, the piece of iron was not a normal human gun.

Understanding the disadvantage he was facing, Lancer dug his spear into a nearby pile of rubble and flung it up, creating a large cloud of dust and debris. It obscured his vision, but it also masked him from Archer.

Archer, on the other hand, paused, surveying the dust cloud with a sharp, focused gaze. This was not unexpected, but he decided to stop and collect his thoughts. He was not being cocky or overconfident; he merely had so much pent up anger that he was worried it would affect his performance. Losing his cool here would most certainly spell his doom.

When the dust finally cleared, Lancer was left out in the open, unscathed. Healing those wounds was not an impressive feat, but it did at least show his Master was not some incompetent third-rate.

"Shame," Archer said, his tone casual but his glare intense. "If you were more like a monster, the battle would've been over already."

"You would resort to such cheap tricks?" Lancer seethed, rage boiling over with every syllable. "Have you no shame, as a Heroic Spirit, in committing such cowardly acts?"

"Shame?" Archer repeated, his tone ice-cold. Even he had not foreseen this turn of events. How could a meeting between Heroic Spirits have gone so wrong? "This coming from someone whose 'fate lies with the tides of War'? Don't make me laugh."

"Do you have misgivings about War, bowman?" Lancer asked, his anger fading a little as it was replaced by mere annoyance.

"No, I do not," Archer snapped. "I understand it perfectly, and scum like you who treat it like a medal of honor are insane."

Blue eyes met green, and each man held the other's gaze. Whether they were stubbornly matching determination, or were searching the other for an answer that did not exist, was anyone's guess. Finally, it was Lancer who broke eye contact.

"It would appear there can be no compromise between us," he said solemnly. "Then there can be no understanding. It would be pointless to continue."

"What, you gonna run away?" Archer taunted, raising his crossbow once more. "What was that about an honorable duel to the death?"

"You have defiled the honor that true warriors possess," Lancer growled. "Slaying you has the same value as putting down a rabid dog. You are not worthy of facing us in battle. Should you wish to give chase, however, I shall most certainly oblige.

"But do not expect any mercy after the vile tricks you have displayed here."

 _You haven't even seen half of what I've prepared,_ Archer thought.

Turning his back on the enemy, Lancer went into spiritual form and disappeared, leaving the area and his supposed foe. When he was sure that he was alone, Archer lowered his weapon. Hesitating for a few minutes, he fished out a cell phone and did as he was instructed, punching in the only number he knew.

"Sorry, Master," he said. "But I need some time to cool my head, so chasing him is…"

"It's alright," Ran's voice came from the other end of the line. "We still have most of the traps, though we may have lost the element of surprise. We'll get him next time."

Archer heaved a sigh of relief. A more reckless Master would have told him to give chase, ditching his advantage and forcing him to fight without a clear head. Ran, for all his straightforward attitude, was no fool, and that one decision may very well have saved Archer's hide.

"In the meantime, get back here," Ran went on. He was observing the whole scene with a pair of binoculars in a building some distance away, so he either could not judge distance properly or he believed Archer could fly. Or both. "We have been 'constructive' enough for one night and-"

The rest of his terrible joke was interrupted by a bestial roar and rough impact on asphalt. The air suddenly changed at that moment, growing tense and heavy all at once. In such a situation, one would find it difficult to even breathe.

Despite that, a vicious killing intent still permeated the space, seemingly undeterred by the crushing atmosphere which _it_ had created. At the center of this unearthly maelstrom of raw rage and fury, was a single Servant.

Unleashing a blood-curdling bellow, Berserker directed its rapidly surging bloodlust at Archer. The air visibly shook in its presence, threatening to obliterate all who dared to stand in its way.

" _Mein Gott,_ " Archer gasped.

* * *

 **Yes, I know there's a Jack the Ripper in Fate/Apocrypha. We did do our research. And trust us, this Servant is someone completely different. I haven't read Apocrypha, but I've checked her Noble Phantasms etc. and while there are similarities (they're supposedly the same person after all) they are largely different. Just FYI.**

 **Again, reviews are welcome, and let us know what you think of it!**


	3. 02 - Family and Partners

Akatsuki groaned, slamming a fist onto his mattress as he struggled not to yell. If he had to use volume to express how he was feeling, he would have screamed.

But as his mother had so kindly informed him, his sisters must not be disturbed. Besides, if either of them came in and saw him writhing in agony, the two of them would definitely run for their parents, like the innocent ten-year-olds they were. Then their parents would kick up a fuss about how much trouble he was causing them.

"I need you to _shut up_ ," he spat angrily. Despite being alone, his voice still traveled to the intended recipient, even if it fell on deaf ears.

Unseen in its spiritual form, Berserker growled with feral rage. Sensing the clash between two Servants close by, it was practically intoxicated with the urge to battle, to kill, to destroy. Even without taking a physical form, its bloodlust and ferocity were overwhelming. Whose idea had it been to summon something like this?

"We're… Just… Observing," Aka grunted, a shaky gasp escaping his lips. "You're _not_ going to fight them…"

His control may have held out, if not for the sudden spike in Lancer's killing intent. It was not something Aka could pick up on – especially not while in pain – but to the ravenous shark that was Berserker, it was blood in the water.

Before Aka could even cry out in pain, Berserker was already gone.

* * *

Archer stood his ground, observing his new adversary. His phone was still by his ear.

"Does it look good, Master?" he asked.

"I-I don't know," Ran replied, clearly shaken. "I thought it was something Lancer did at first, but this guy's the same – I can't read his stats."

"But you can still read mine?" Archer prompted.

"Yeah, but just yours," Ran replied. "I can't read Berserker, and I couldn't read Lancer's-"

"Calm down," Archer cut across him. "You already said that. Leave it to me."

Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

"Thanks for waiting," he said to the mad enhanced Servant. "That was really nice of you."

Berserker showed no signs of having understood that sentence. It just growled at him, without backing away or advancing. It was as though it was confused, unable to discern if it was indeed Archer who had called it here with that intense fighting spirit.

Archer, whose senses were on edge, watched, every fiber of his being ready to react to the slightest movement. He had no room for tardiness, and he had merely been lucky earlier when Berserker had let him talk on the phone. He did not have the luxury for mistakes; there was no misreading the sheer presence of this Servant, and the slightest misstep could spell his doom.

Clad in what appeared to be dark gold armor, Berserker's face was concealed in an old-fashioned winged helmet. Not an inch of skin was visible, and its eyes were masked by shadows cast by the helmet's opening. The gauntlets on its hands, while not holding any weapon, had sharp ends on the fingertips, as though they were fashioned to be claws. Even though that made it practically unarmed, the Servant of madness nonetheless looked capable of destroying everything in its path.

"Is conversation out of the question?" Archer asked.

What met that reply was an inhuman bellow, followed instantly by Berserker's deranged charge.

* * *

Aka gasped for breath, clutching onto his windowsill like a lifeline. Berserker was draining him immensely, and it had barely moved yet.

"Aka-nii?"

He flinched. Turning around slowly, Aka came face-to-face with a dreaded face – that of his younger sister Akemi. Maybe coming home while still in the Holy Grail War was a bad idea.

"You," Aka panted, trying to act normal. "Should be sleeping."

"I heard noises," Akemi said timidly. She had never been able to speak up with confidence like her twin Akari – a trait she might have mirrored in Aka's low self-esteem. "Did something happen?"

"N-nothing's wrong," Aka replied hastily. Berserker suddenly drained a whole lot more prana at once, and Aka had been unable to adjust, leading to an involuntary twitch. "G-go back to sleep, Akemi."

She may have been young, but Akemi Ishida was no idiot. However, even if she did understand that there were secrets in her brother's life to which she was not privy, she just could not shake the strong feeling of unease.

"C-can I sleep in your bed tonight?" she asked meekly. It was a trick she had used far too many times before, and it had succeeded far too many times to count. "Just tonight, I promise…"

Aka could feel all the nerves in his body screaming in agony. Just keeping a straight face was taking all the willpower he had.

"Well, no," he said with forced bravado. "But I can stay with you till you fall asleep."

Akemi's face lit up at that, and she nodded, dashing back to her room with her brother in tow. Pouncing onto her bed and snuggling her stuffed toy panda, she smiled at him so happily he almost forgot about the War. Almost.

"You don't think you're too old for this by now?" Aka asked, poking the doll. Of all the things he had picked up before being forced into learning magecraft, acting might have been the most useful for situations like this. The pain wrenching at his muscles was a significant challenge, though.

"You can't outgrow what you like," Akemi replied, sticking her tongue out at him. She must have picked it up from her cheeky twin.

"Okay then," Aka replied, sitting on the floor next to her bed. "Since you can't outgrow that one, I don't need to buy you a new one for your birthday, right?"

"That and this are two different things," Akemi insisted. "A lady can never have too many stuffed animals."

"Yes, yes…" Aka sighed, before wincing painfully. Berserker was a real pain in the neck (and just about everywhere else, too) right now.

"Are you alright, Aka-nii?" Akemi asked, a look of genuine concern flooding her face.

"Y-yeah, of course," Aka replied feebly. "What makes you ask that?"

"It's just that… you seemed kinda distant lately…" Akemi said. Thankfully, she seemed to have missed the wincing in the dim illumination. "Did something happen? You had that face you only ever make when you're very stressed or when something bad happens…"

Aka opened his mouth to speak, but his voice got caught in his throat for a bit. Recovering hastily by clearing his throat, he put on a playful smile instead.

"I'm not distant," he assured her. "I've always been this tall. You're just too short, lil' sis."

A tiny fist struck him on the arm. She was channeling Akari more and more every day.

"Alright, time to sleep," Aka chuckled, swearing internally as the weak punch sent violent shockwaves throughout his body. "We don't want you to be a slob and wake up late, now do we? That's my job."

Mumbling something inaudible under his breath, Aka gently stroked his sister's hair. Akemi, who evidently had no intention of falling asleep, yawned, her eyelids suddenly heavy for unknown reasons.

"Whatever you're doing… don't push… yourself… too hard," she mumbled sleepily. "You… can't… take care of… yourself… properly…"

"Goodnight, Akemi," Aka whispered, having finished his hypnosis spell. "Sorry about that."

He was lucky that Akari slept in a separate room, because he was certainly in no state to cast another spell; his magic circuits were searing with white-hot pain, and his bones were simultaneously catching fire. Casting a simple spell like that was not a problem, but doing it while Berserker was on a rampage was genocide to his nerves. And Berserker just _had_ to be on a rampage right now, because Aka had clearly ordered a side helping of uncontrolled rage in addition to the extra-large serving of pulsating bloodlust.

"I'll be right back," he promised. He may not be the most likeable or honest guy around, but he always kept his promises.

* * *

Archer leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding Berserker's monstrous blow. The mad Servant, having missed its target, simply continued its movement and slammed its claw into the ground, creating a small crater.

Unable to come up with a snappy comeback, Archer retreated, seeking refuge behind a stack of steel girders. The moment his boots touched the ground, however, Berserker was already in his face, plowing through the stack of steel like a battering ram against paper. Before he could reach Archer, however, the smashed pieces of metal glowed and flew towards it, sticking to its body like glue as the girders on the ground wrapped themselves around its legs.

Berserker struggled, but to no avail; not only were the steel pieces firmly stuck, they were actively pressing against its body, trying to crush it. If that was not enough, they were getting progressively heavier and heavier as well, eventually forcing the Servant to its knees.

Whatever it may have looked like to the spectators, the trap had not been made possible by some Noble Phantasm. It was just simple magecraft, but was not Ran's handiwork; it was Archer who had set it up. It might have been capable of heavily injuring or crushing a normal Servant, but Berserker was extremely sturdy.

 _And gravity usually works on the big ones, too,_ Archer thought, whipping out his crossbow.

Lancer had been unfazed, but Berserker was definitely different. It was clearly insane, and left no doubt that his arrow would do more than just pierce should it connect. Taking a few steps back for precaution, Archer let loose a barrage of glowing white trails.

Had he not stepped back, he might have won.

 _Kill him, Berserker._

Complying with its Master's orders, Berserker howled, tearing off the pieces of steel with sheer brute strength as more and more prana flowed into it. Leaping into the air to avoid the flurry of arrows, the mad Servant charged like a meteor, plummeting towards Archer from mid-air.

Leaning against a nearby streetlamp, Aka gasped for air. Supplying Berserker with even more prana had been an arduous task, and possibly downright suicidal, but he had to. If he dropped out because his Servant – the strongest of all Servants, mind you – lost to some metal girders, he would have to kill himself.

"I thought your Noble Phantasm was a passive thing," he panted, talking to himself. "But you couldn't just throw me a bone, could you? Little prick…"

As far as raw strength was concerned, Berserker had no equal. With its Noble Phantasm further augmenting that strength, the other Servants would not even come close. However, while the Noble Phantasm did increase Berserker's strength passively, the level of increase changed depending on how much prana Aka could supply. As he understood it, it was because of Berserker's Mad Enhancement getting in the way of it using its Noble Phantasms.

"Crush him," he said. "Show them just how strong you are."

Whether it had heard him or not (or if it could even understand those words), Berserker continued its merciless onslaught, clawing fiercely at his retreating foe. For a Heroic Spirit supposedly stripped of all sense and reason, Berserker's movements were… actually pretty fitting; while it possessed incredible speed and power, the Servant's movements were not those of one who has honed their skills in life. However, what it lacked in skill, it made up for several times over with power.

Archer, unable to keep up with Berserker's agility despite being able to read his movements, found himself easily backed into a corner. Unable to escape, he stood his ground, facing it in close combat. Keeping his crossbow and pulling out a wooden stake, he scraped it against the ground as he ducked to avoid Berserker's claw.

Berserker, whose rage was already boiling over, grew even more furious as Archer proceeded to dodge every blow. Even if the occasional swing grazed his skin and clothes, the Servant of the Bow was just not going down.

Archer, on the other hand, relied on all his senses to predict Berserker's next move. Oddly enough, Berserker seemed to be getting stronger as they fought, and was starting to catch on to his movements. Sidestepping to avoid the falling two-handed smash and somersaulting over the backhand that followed, Archer continued dragging his stake across the ground, leaving scraping noises in its wake.

"Alright; time out!" he yelled, stabbing the stake all the way into the ground. " _Vliegen!"_

As soon as he chanted the word, the ground beneath him lit up – or rather, the marks left by his stake did. The crudely carved symbols gave off a faint light, and Berserker was instantly sent crashing into a nearby building, disappearing from view.

Whipping out the pistol and crossbow once more, Archer held both weapons in his hands and fired them at the same time. The bullet hit a random support column, causing a light blue magic circle to manifest from the hole it just made upon impact. Shortly after that, the arrow made contact with the exact same spot, striking the dead center of the magic circle and causing the color of the glow to become red. Instantly, several copies of the magic circle appeared out of nowhere on the other support columns, their scarlet glow getting brighter and brighter until the columns themselves shattered.

With a terrible rumble, the building collapsed, crushing Berserker under its immense weight and filling the entire construction zone with a huge cloud of dirt and debris. The building was empty and there had been an assortment of different traps he could have utilized inside it, but Archer figured it was not worth the risk of letting Berserker bring the building down on _him_ instead.

Extracting his stake and holstering his gun, Archer sketched a much more elaborate magic circle on the ground. If need be, he could pull raw mana from the leylines underneath London and fire it like a cannon, but the backlash would be worrying. While his _condition_ made the spell usable at all, he would rather not take such chances this early on in the War.

 _Unless he makes me,_ he added in his head.

But Berserker did not emerge from the rubble. Retaining its murderous intent and uncontrollable bloodlust, the deranged Servant left the scene in spiritual form. Its anger was rising even higher – assuming that was possible at all – likely due to being unable to finish the fight. However, with its Master unwilling (or unable) to supply more prana, it had no choice but to retreat.

" _Mein Gott_ ," Archer sighed, sitting down on the ground. "I'm too old to be doing this."

And with that, as abruptly as they had begun, the first day's battles drew to a close.

* * *

Shizuku was silent as he ruminated over the battle he had just witnessed. Archer's quick thinking and wit were impressive, certainly, but the worrisome one was Berserker. He had really believed it to be dead, until Caster ever-so-kindly pointed out that it was still very much alive. Its endurance was not only impressive; it was downright terrifying.

Caster, on the other hand, appeared more interested in the crystal ball she was using to watch the fight.

"What a pain," he muttered. "Hey, Caster-"

"I'm not Caster; I'm Assassin," Caster replied casually.

"… What."

"I said I'm Assassin," Caster repeated. "Geez, Master, you could get your Servant's Class right at least."

"… Right," Shizuku sighed. As if a young white-haired girl could pass off as an Assassin. If she wanted to copy Archer, she was doing a horrible job. And why did she have to pick up the most useless things? "Now, Caster-"

"I said I'm Assassin!" Caster exclaimed shrilly.

"Stop it," Shizuku said firmly, causing Caster to pout. "I'm going to make a plan for Berserker, and I need to know to what extend you can follow through with it. You have an advantage over it because of your Class; Berserkers don't have a high level of magic resistance, so an Assassin-Class Servant-"

He paused. The few seconds of silence that followed were broken only by Caster's breathing as she tried desperately not to laugh.

"Stop confusing me," he said at last, in a last-ditch attempt to hide his mistake and embarrassment.

"You seem to be doing a fine job confusing yourself without my help," Caster pointed out.

"… Do I need to use a Command Seal to make you take things seriously?" Shizuku threatened.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin fell to her knees, wiping nonexistent tears from her eyes as she sobbed.

"Y-you would force a weak, fragile little girl to bend to your will?" She said pitifully. "I-I understand… You are my Master, and as such I have no choice but to surrender to your tyranny…"

She then proceeded to cry softly, wiping away imaginary tears as Shizuku's brain threatened to explode. He was angry as all heck, sure, but a part of him berated himself for hurting such a delicate child's feelings.

He had not understood what that skill of Caster's had been at first, but he knew fully well now that it was indeed a dangerous weapon. Regardless of their thoughts and the situation at hand, Caster's Innocent Charm could make anyone exposed to her face drop their guard and think of her as a normal, innocent child. Granted, it would not stop them from killing her if they wanted to, but it was, however ineffective, still a deterrent to decent people. And right now it was driving Shizuku up the wall.

"That being said," Caster said suddenly, getting to her feet. "You should calm down, Master. You're focusing too much on the Servant at hand. Berserker's display was interesting and all, but if we put all our effort into eliminating it right away, we'll be taken out along with him or after him by the Servants who watch in on the battle."

"So you want to leave it be, is that it?" Shizuku snapped, evidently annoyed. He was pretty sure his Servant merely wanted to slack off and not do any work.

"No; I'm saying we should wait," Caster replied patiently. "Berserker's going to be after Archer now, so we can use him as bait. And after seeing that battle, no doubt the other Masters would be trying to get rid of the other one once either falls. We can then use Archer as bait, or we can swoop in and kill whoever kills Archer or Berserker after their duel. Wouldn't it be easier that way?"

Shizuku took a few moments to consider her words. Frankly speaking, she actually had a point, which not only infuriated him, but also made him feel so stupid he wanted to find a hole to jump into.

"… You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I was distracted and got reckless in my thinking. Thanks."

Caster's expression was so smug Shizuku was sure he could channel Berserker just then.

"So, what's our next move?" she asked sweetly. Shizuku sighed.

"We find a Master who wants both Archer and Berserker gone, and form an alliance," he said. "Then we'll backstab them once they _are_ gone."

"Sounds good to me," Caster replied. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Lancer's Master," Shizuku instantly answered. "And I never thought I'd say this, but that appearance of yours might actually come in handy against the Masters…"

Caster tilted her head in confusion. She had no doubt her Master was competent, seeing how he had chosen their base – by hypnotizing a small family into going on vacation and using their house in their absence. The location was decided at random, making it perfect for hiding out. Shizuku was not one to make stupid mistakes, so she trusted him.

But she did wish he would take her to the park or something.

* * *

Rei Morikawa was feeling the heat. It was not a figure of speech, either; he could literally feel the temperature rise as he sat on a nearby crate. The source of said heat, who just so happened to be the reason why most of the warehouse they were in was wrecked, was glaring straight at him.

"For the last time," he sighed. "You're not going in until we have a plan."

But of course, his words fell on deaf ears.

His conversation partner, a child approaching his teenage years, laughed derisively. Clad in a red-and-gold garment embroidered with phoenix embellishments, the little brat was supposedly a deity, and a powerful one at that. The Gods had a really twisted sense of humor.

"Plan?" The boy mocked. "Plan?! How about going in and beating them up?! How about letting me go all-out right now and win the War in one day?! Those thoughts ever cross your mind, Master?! Or are you too stupid to see just how superior your Servant is?"

"You're not going anywhere," Rei told him firmly. He had to use a Command Spell the night before just to stop Rider from crashing in on Archer and Berserker, and it had been a real waste. "You have no idea how strong they are, Rider. You can't take them on all by yourself."

"And why not?!" Rider demanded. "I have felled even the Dragon Kings; there is no Hero – past, present or future – who can beat me! Do you not understand that your best course of action is to let me obliterate them in one go?! Do you have any idea how strong _I_ am, my 'Master'? Are you not after the Holy Grail?"

"Of course I want it," Rei said exasperatedly. "But there are-"

He was interrupted by an electronic ringing sound, which caused Rider to instantly assume a defensive stance. He had no weapon out, but it did not matter right then.

"Hello?" Rei answered tiredly, putting his phone to his ear. "Yeah, I- I mean, yes mom. I'm fine. I'm a little busy now so… Yeah, okay… Tell dad I'm sorry. Yeah. Bye."

"Wuss," Rider scoffed. "To act like a frightened rat in front of your parents… What happened to that energy you had when you stopped me, _Rei_?"

"Try me," Rei challenged, raising his hand and showing Rider his remaining four Command Seals. "I will make you obey every command without question like a dog. How's that sound?"

"You're more than welcome to try," Rider laughed. "Such vague commands won't bind me; your capacity as a magus isn't remotely enough for such a command to be anything but a suggestion. You overestimate yourself, Master."

Rei gnashed his teeth.

"Your parents must be _so_ proud of you right now," he jabbed.

"My father tried to kill me," Rider spat, his tone dangerously low. "Pride was never something he felt whenever I'm concerned."

Rei flinched. He was not unfamiliar with Rider's legend, but he had got caught up in the heat of the moment. If Ran had been there, he would probably have made a lame joke about it. Instead, Rei faced his Servant earnestly.

"Sorry," he said at last.

"Mark my words, Master," Rider said, returning to his spiritual form. Something in his voice was different, but Rei could not tell exactly what. "There is no one in existence who can defeat me. I am the strongest Servant, and I will prove it to you.

"And I will show you that true strength spawns from hate."

* * *

Akemi woke, stifling a yawn as she slowly sat upright. Moving to get off the bed, she stopped, having been blocked by something on the side of her bed.

Sitting on the floor and resting his head on the edge of Akemi's bed, Akatsuki Ishida was soundly asleep, his breathing gentle as he showed no signs of waking up anytime soon.

"And you wonder why we worry so much," Akemi sighed. However, she did not wake him up right then. He had stayed by her side all night; it was her turn to ensure that he would sleep soundly now.

Aka mumbled something as he slept, his brows furrowed. Even though he was clearly having a bad dream, Akemi could not help but smile. He had always been the one acting all strong and dependable in front of them, playing the role of the big brother, but right now, as he slept, he felt so small and vulnerable. Perhaps that was who he was supposed to be. Reaching out to pat him on the shoulder, Akemi smiled.

"It's okay, Aka-nii," she whispered. "We're all here for you; that's what family's for, isn't it?"

Lost in the world of dreams, Aka shed a single tear.


	4. 03 - Target

**Hello and welcome to chapter 3! I know it may be difficult to keep track of everyone in this story, but hang in there! We'll try our hardest to make sure your time pays off!**

* * *

The world was covered in shadows, writhing and rotting within a boundless void of nothingness. The darkness stretched on without end, occasionally seared by faint beams of sunlight. There was nothing resembling warmth in this space, and there was no tranquility in its thundering silence.

In the middle of this desolate void, sat a single girl.

Dressed in filthy, tattered rags, the child shuddered as sunlight seeped through the openings in the wood. Her snow-white hair brushed against her ear at that simple movement, making her flinch. Splattered with mud and rainwater, her tiny frame edged away from the light, as though fearing it may somehow hurt her.

Within the dank confines of a single barrel, the sounds of terrified sobbing could be heard.

Trembling fingers gripped the solid rags, shifting them about in an attempt to cover the body they were too small for. Her voice, shaky and muffled, escaped from her lips only to be swallowed up by the silence. She was helpless, she was weak, and the world seemed to be relishing that fact.

Without warning, the barrel's lid was removed, and white-hot light gushed into the space to burn away the darkness. The shadows faded, and the cold vanished, exposing her fragile frame to a harsh warmth that seemed to incinerate her skin. Cowering in fear and shielding herself with her arms, the white-haired child let out a pitiful whimper.

A hand reached into the barrel, its slender fingers brushing her shoulder-

* * *

Shizuku Otonashi opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was no stranger to weird dreams, at least not since he was exposed to anime, but the dream he had just had was something else.

There were very few females in Shizuku's life, possibly due to his anti-social tendencies. In fact, besides his friends' family members and his mom, he only knew two: Slut and…

Caster. If he were to dream of a white-haired girl in his sleep, it would without a doubt be her. While it looked like the logical answer – and probably the only possible one – he just refused to believe it had been _Caster_ in that dream.

"Master," Caster's voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake?"

"Don't come in," Shizuku said immediately, sitting up on the bed.

"Fine," Caster said. Shizuku was willing to bet his Magic Crest (it was not worth much, but still) that she was pouting right then. "The family we hypnotized is coming back right now. Seems like the spell wore off."

"Got it," Shizuku replied. It was nothing to fret over; he had plenty of backup locations already decided and memorized by heart for moments like this. "We'll move out in ten minutes."

The image from his dream returned. It was unnecessarily lucid, adamantly refusing to leave his mind no matter how hard he tried to push it out. There was something in that dream which he could not ignore – something that hit a little too close to the chest.

 _Don't think about it,_ he told himself firmly. _You're in a battle with your life on the line right now. Stay focused._

But like everything else related to Caster, the more he tried to ignore it, the more it refused to go away.

* * *

Kenichi lay on the dusty old bench, stifling a yawn as he proceeded to do absolutely nothing. The first night of the Holy Grail War had turned out to be rather uneventful, and while that meant less work for him, it also made his job as a mediator exceedingly boring.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a nap," Ken replied, not bothering to hide his irritation. The young kid – Kirei, as he recalled his name was – had been here since the previous night observing the War with him, if sitting around waiting for updates could be called that.

The kid was, if anything, brilliant. Ken did not use that term lightly, and Kirei Kotomine was by far one of the smartest people he had ever met. Whatever the subject, the boy was so well versed in everything he brought up that Ken was sure the brat was faking his age.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "There's nothing for you to do."

"I am here to observe," Kirei replied. "Even if you are not an official member of the Church, the role of the mediator is one that will unavoidably affect the image of the Church depending on the actions taken. I believe it is my duty to see this through."

"On whose orders?" Ken questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"It is my judgement, and mine alone," Kirei stated plainly. "As the son of a devout priest, it is my responsibility to uphold his teachings as well as the good name of the Church and Christ."

"How noble," Ken chuckled. "And if I fail to make the grade, what will you do to stop me?"

"Should the situation arise, I will eliminate you," Kirei replied flatly. There was not a single hint of humor in his tone. "Should you prove incompetent in carrying out your role, I will exercise my right as an Executor to remove you."

Ken actually burst out laughing at that.

"Right, right," he said. "An Executor. You. A what, ten-year-old? Executor? Right."

Kirei did not reply, nor did he correct Ken's words. Instead, he walked over to the podium in the front of the church, and stared intently at the markings engraved on it.

Ken had told him those were the Command Seals in the current Holy Grail War. Whenever a Command Seal was used, the corresponding mark would glow on the altar. With five extra seals given to the mediator, a total of forty seals rested on white marble. They looked perfectly ordinary, with one mark – Rider's – glowing faintly as it had last night. There was nothing wrong with them, no matter how he looked at it, but there was something unnerving about the lifeless podium that bothered Kirei.

For reasons he could not explain, Kirei believed that the marble altar was, somehow, _alive_.

* * *

Caster was bored. It might not have been appropriate, given how she was in a seven-way battle royale to the death, but she was just so _bored_.

Shizuku, as usual, was completely oblivious to her suffering. He had been talking on the phone since they moved into this new base, and did not seem to be stopping anytime soon.

She considered startling him with sudden loud noises, or even dumping a carton of milk over his head, but those ideas were rejected quickly; Shizuku was talking to his friends, and she was not in favor of finding out what he would do when he was really pissed. For now, she would just stick to being moderately annoying.

"Shizuku~" she sang loudly, causing her Master to shudder. "Put the phone down already~ I'm cold without my clothes on~"

"No, that's not what you think it is," Shizuku said hastily into the receiver. "No, she's not- No, don't you dare. I _will_ kill you, Aka. I swear, if you even- hello? Hello?"

With an expression that suggested his life was over, Shizuku finally put down the phone.

"Thanks, Caster," he muttered. "You've just killed me."

"You're welcome!" Caster beamed. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Hide-and-seek locations," Shizuku replied, somewhat lamely. "We used to play it when we started learning magecraft to escape lecturers whenever we skipped classes. Not that they ever chased after us, though."

"What on Earth for?" Caster asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe it'd give me some hints," Shizuku shrugged. "With this little to go on, it may just help us locate another Master and their Servant."

"Aren't you the leader of your little group?" Caster inquired. "Shouldn't you be smarter than all of them?"

"You don't need to be smarter to lead," Shizuku said. "And besides, I was forced into it; I didn't become the leader by my own choice."

"Do you not like being a leader?" Caster asked, her tone changing a little. "Do you hate being relied on?"

"To be honest, it's a pain," Shizuku replied. "I never asked to lead; I rather not take care of them and-"

"What's wrong with being relied on?"

Finally catching on to Caster's change in tone, Shizuku turned to face his Servant. The young, white-haired girl stared back at him, her eyes evidently holding back a sheen of tears. What was unclear to Shizuku was why exactly she was acting like this.

"What do you mean?" he asked calmly.

"You should be happy that they're relying on you," she said. "You should be happy that they believe in you so much! Why would you think of their trust as a pain?"

"Maybe because I don't want to rely on them like a little kid."

Caster flinched. Shizuku froze.

Those words had just escaped his lips before he knew it, and as a result he had unintentionally lashed out at her. There had been nothing wrong with her words, nor her outburst due to a lack of knowledge of his past, but he had retorted all the same. Why was he of all people getting so riled up over something like this?

"We're… leaving," he declared, standing up and walking towards the front door. "There's something I want to inspect."

Wordlessly, Caster followed after him.

* * *

Shizuku inspected the demolished construction site with mild interest, walking past craters and other marks of violence and destruction as he looked around. Thanks to Archer and Berserker, the entire space had been reduced to nothing but piles of rubble, and one very peculiar mark carved into the ground.

"What do you think of it?" he asked, kneeling down next to the last magic circle Archer had carved in his battle against Berserker.

"I can't be sure," Caster said without looking at him. "It's definitely not something belonging to this era, but… I don't know. I'm not that knowledgeable about spells and magic."

"He left this here on purpose," Shizuku hypothesized. "Should be a trap."

"What makes you say that?"

"He was exceedingly well-prepared," Shizuku elaborated. "He prepared this place, gained the initiative by luring other Servants in, and managed to repel even that Berserker. I doubt he'd be careless enough to leave a trump card here for anyone to use."

"He was prepared to use this against Berserker," Caster pointed out. "It must have some incredible attack power."

"Erase it," Shizuku ordered.

"Mind if I ask why?" Caster asked candidly, still not looking at him. "I'm a Caster; I should be able to hijack his spell without much hassle."

"In that situation, he couldn't have been setting up a bluff," Shizuku said. "And yet, he didn't erase it. If it was something anyone could use without repercussions, he would've erased it before leaving so no one can use it against him. That means-"

"That it's something only he can use," Caster finished for him, somewhat impatiently. "I got it already. Stand back."

Walking up to the magic circle, Caster slightly raised one foot and stepped down on it. A sharp 'clack' sounded as her heel touched the asphalt, echoing briefly despite her not putting much force into her foot.

Immediately, the magic circle on the ground glowed, but ultimately nothing happened. The faint light lasted no more than a few seconds, then died down just as gradually.

"What's wrong?" Shizuku asked.

"It's not your run-of-the-mill spell," Caster replied. "It's going to need something a little… stronger."

Without waiting for Shizuku to say anything else, she raised her foot and stomped onto the magic circle. As the magic circle started glowing again, she lifted her other foot, stepped, and then stepped again with the first foot. Repeating the actions like some kind of tap dance, Caster clicked her heels across the magic circle, causing its glow to flicker irregularly.

With one last, loud stomp, a sharp 'clack' reverberated across the space. As the sound dissipated, the magic circle's glow also began to fade, eventually losing its light and crumbling on itself. When it finally vanished, all that was left was a circular dent in the ground.

"Done," she told him plainly. "What now?"

Shizuku looked around. There were few buildings in the area, and only one had any decent height. Archer might have picked somewhere difficult to spy on, but it was not a perfect location. Not that Shizuku minded, since it made things simpler for him.

"We'll check that building," he said, pointing to it (though Caster was not looking). "Probably nothing there, but worth a shot. I don't expect there to be a hideout or anything, but maybe a clue."

Caster nodded.

"Whatever you say," she sighed. "Boss," she added with a tinge of sarcasm.

* * *

"How's it looking, Assassin?"

Assassin did not reply immediately, instead looking at his body as though it was not his room.

"Fully charged," he said with great satisfaction, a wide smile tugging at his lips. "Sorry it took so long, Master."

"Naw, it's fine," Hiro replied. "Though at one point I did wonder if you were tricking me just so you could kill more people."

"Well," Assassin said playfully. "I admit that the last one may not have been necessary… But draining that extra bit of mana was good too. Whatever the case, now that I'm at maximum capacity, shall we search for a new hideout?"

"Yes, let's," Hiro nodded. "The old one was starting to feel dull."

Their old hideout – one of the upper-floor apartments in a building next to the construction site Archer fought in – had been something decided on the spur of the moment. While the tenants had managed to supply Assassin with mana, the location became somewhat boring after a night. And maybe a little messy.

"And let's get some food along the way," Assassin suggested.

Something told him that 'food' was not referring to a sandwich or sushi or something like that, but Hiro still nodded; Assassin just made him feel so at ease that he did not bother thinking too much about it. He just could not bring himself to mind whatever it was that he did.

"Lovely," he said, smacking his lips.

* * *

Shizuku climbed the stairs slowly, collecting his thoughts as he ascended. Caster followed behind him, still adamant on ignoring him. At least that made things quieter.

The first floor had been a miss as expected, and the second floor as well. The third floor was the last before the roof, and he was expecting something out of this one.

Thinking back, he should have observed this building more during Archer's fight. While familiars were fine and all for watching, if a Master wanted to send their Servants into the fray, they needed a good vantage point. This building would have been the only option, though Shizuku was starting to suspect Archer had picked the construction site precisely because of it – so that Archer himself could keep an eye on whoever might have been watching. If he had really managed to plan that far, that Servant needed to be eliminated immediately.

"Stop," he said, staring at an empty corridor." Boundary field. Erase it."

Without a verbal reply, Caster complied, and a dry 'clack' rang through the building. Nothing seemed to have happened, but Shizuku nodded. Walking to the nearest door, he unlocked it with a simple spell and walked in.

A Hell of dripping, pulsating scarlet made his blood run cold.

Waves of scarlet flooded the floors and walls, slithering along the surfaces with an agonizing crawl. Lumps of something – something soft and wet – littered the furniture and floorboards, soaking up the vibrant crimson hue and emanating a rancid stench. And at the far end of the room, sprawled on the floor almost comically, was a woman. Or, at least, whatever was left of her that had not been thrown around everywhere.

In the bloodied mangle of what was supposed to be her limbs, was the body of a small child.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional sounds of liquid dripping onto more liquid. Every individual drop crashed ruthlessly into Shizuku's consciousness, constricting him with the foreboding aura of Death. He knew he had to escape, to leave this place, to forget all this, but he was too rooted with fear to move.

"Master," Caster's hollow voice rang. "Let's go."

Shizuku did not reply. More accurately, he _could_ not reply. Assassin' and Hiro's little personal 'museum' had robbed him of all ability to think or speak, and Caster was sure his sanity itself was falling apart. Shizuku was, in the end, just a kid; regardless of what he had said, he was a complete stranger to death, and being a Master did not help matters.

"Master," Caster said, much more firmly this time as she dragged him by the arm. "We're _leaving_."

* * *

Shizuku gripped his shirt, desperately trying to stop the violent shakes assaulting his body. Lurching forward, he threw up again, and the action, along with his shaky limbs, would have made him fall to his knees if not for Caster supporting him.

Jumbled thoughts and panicked cries filled his mind, creating a maelstrom of chaos and pain that threatened to tear his brain apart. The excessive shock of witnessing that grotesque scene had sent Shizuku into such a state of consternation he could hardly think straight. It would not have been strange if he had decided to just drop out of the War entirely at that point.

And he might have, if not for a sudden thought surfacing in his head.

" _Aka_ ," he muttered, sprinting for the nearest telephone booth.

* * *

"Ishida residence."

"Aka!" Shizuku almost yelled.

"Um, Shizuku-san?" Akari's voice asked. Understandably, she sounded both confused and a little scared. "Tsuki-nii is sleeping right now; he has a fever-"

"Could you get him on the phone?" Shizuku cut across her. "It's urgent. Please."

"O-okay…" Akari said apprehensively. "Please hold on."

Minutes later, Akatsuki Ishida hobbled down the stairs, his misery and discomfort evident on his face. His fever was one thing, but the biggest issue was with his own mind.

Last night, he had ordered Berserker to retreat, going as far as to cut off his prana supply to the Servant to achieve it. He had not been unsure about his chances of victory – Berserker had more than enough power in its Noble Phantasm to wipe out all the other Servants alongside the entirety of London (and he would have let it, if not for the collateral damage) – he had been unsure about whether it was the right thing to do.

Aka was not the most gentle of people, but even he abhorred the idea of killing. When he realized that Berserker could kill, could really _kill_ , he had hesitated.

Why had it bothered him so much? Servants were just familiars, taking the form of human beings. One way or another, they were going to disappear by the end of the War. Considering collateral damage, as long as he could somehow get all the Servants in the same room, Aka could have made Berserker destroy all of them in one go and emerge victorious. They were not even living things,, so there should have been no reason to hold back. And yet, he had.

 _God, I'm such a wimp,_ he chastised himself mentally. _Now Berserker's going to be treated like some wimp too, or worse yet, they'll come gunning for me because I'm clearly limiting him, and taking me out would take him out… Wait; since I fled from Archer, he could be coming after me! What if he's found out where I live, and he blows up my house just to kill Berserker? Because of me, my family-_

He did not get to finish that thought, owing to his brain bursting with pain mid-sentence. Paranoia and fevers, it appeared, did not go well together.

"Hello?" he asked, picking up the phone.

"Aka," Shizuku's voice said. He sounded oddly agitated, which was exceedingly rare for him. "I need you to answer me something honestly. No jokes, no nonsense. Okay?"

"… Alright," Aka replied, leaning against the wall. Shizuku almost never used that tone with anyone before.

"Your fever," Shizuku went on. "Is it an illness caused by some bug, or is it mana deprivation?"

"I- How did you-?" Aka stammered. "Wait, Shizuku, where is this coming from?"

"Answer me, Aka," Shizuku said. "Please."

"… Yes, it's mana deprivation," Aka replied truthfully. "I'm-"

He suddenly froze, unable to say a single word beyond that point. He had had no intention of stopping himself, and had realized it far too late, but his mouth had prevented him from saying those words regardless. It was clearly unnatural, and it was definitely a foreign form of magecraft.

Aka's thoughts drifted to the parchment he signed at the start of the War. There did seem to be a clause that prevented him from saying anything to anyone about the War he was in, now that he thought about it. Such a pain the Clock Tower was.

"I was, er, drained a little too much," Aka went on. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I see," Shizuku replied slowly. "Aka, for the next few days, don't leave your house. Just stay at home, alright? I'll explain when everything's over."

Without waiting for his reply, Shizuku hung up, leaving Aka to ponder what those words meant.

* * *

"What was that about?" Caster demanded.

"Aka had a fever," Shizuku replied. "His house was pretty close to the construction site, so I feared as much…"

"What are you talking about?" Caster asked, raising her voice a little.

"Berserker was injured last night," Shizuku said. "That… scene we saw at the apartment was probably Berserker's doing in an attempt to heal up. It just went to the closest sources it could find, and it must've found Aka and drained him. He survived, but he's not safe; if Berserker's Master finds out he's alive, he'll die for sure. We have to stop them before that."

"Wait a minute," Caster said. "You're out for Berserker, fine, but you're doing it because it might attack your friend, and not because of the horrible things it's already done?"

"Of course that's also a concern," Shizuku replied, somewhat halfheartedly. "Either way, Berserker's a dangerous element. Our main priority's to destroy it. Any questions?"

"None at all," Caster replied curtly. "So long as you can focus on the battles ahead, I don't really care."

"What's wrong with you?" Shizuku asked, his frustration finally getting to him. "You've been acting weird ever since we left the hideout. And back then, when you saw that… that _scene_ , you barely even twitched. Are you even human?"

"No, I'm not," Caster replied swiftly. "And you shouldn't be surprised, either; you summoned me. I'm the Pied Piper of Hamelin, the psychopath who bewitched and killed one hundred and thirty children in cold blood. What sort of humanity were you expecting from an abomination like me?"

Shizuku opened his mouth to reply, only to shut it almost immediately. The sight which had caused him to stop, was the expression on Caster's face.

Two glistening trails blazed down her cheeks, dripping onto her dress as she glared defiantly back at him. Despite everything she said, her face told an entirely different story altogether. It was, regardless of what she said, extremely _human._

That was when Shizuku understood. The feeling that had attacked him after that dream had been unclear before, despite its clarity, and he had thought he would never figure it out. The feeling, painful and nostalgic, was something that he had believed to be a thing of the past for him. Looking into her eyes and seeing the same expression he, too, had once wore, Shizuku finally knew what he had felt in that dream. In that helpless scene where a young child had been abandoned by the world.

It was, without a shadow of doubt, the feeling of solitude.


End file.
